


Crawling Back to You

by seizethelight



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Implied Bondage, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Pre-Slash, and then not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seizethelight/pseuds/seizethelight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He usually does a better job of blocking the deeper recesses of Chuck's brain when they drift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawling Back to You

He usually does a better job of blocking the deeper recesses of Chuck's brain when they drift, they live in the same 10x30 metal box, copilot a Jaeger, eat and train together. Herc thinks the kid deserves a shred or two of privacy in his own head. He's young, and Herc remembers the thoughts he had before the kaiju, the possibilities laid out before him that didn't involve a grim certainty that the end of the goddamn world was resting on his shoulders. He'd like to preserve a little of that for his boy.

But then they're in Striker, locked down, and Herc sees the image flash, a moment in the drift just before they move. He lets them pass over him, but this one catches, only because Chuck's making a pained noise in his head, and something in Herc's chest spikes a little, a protective streak that he tries to suppress rushing to the front of his brain. (The irony doesn't surprise him, shoving his only child in front of a towering alien monster is something they do on the regular, but a random thought gets his hackles up? Herc's never had his priorities lined neatly in a row.) He tries to shake it off and they go to work.

The next time they suit up, the same image hovers in Herc's vision for a moment, dangling at the forefront, almost like it's been pushed there.

Just a second or two more, and it's the same strangled sob, and Herc sees a cutaway shot of bound wrists before the thought is snatched away. He glances at Chuck, but he's focused, throwing himself into his game day mindset. 

It claws its way into his mind, though, settles back where he can reach it later if he wants, but after a kill and a long walk back to shore, Herc doesn't mention it to Chuck, barely fuels up before getting himself to their quarters and passing out.

The attacks are coming closer and closer together now, and the toll it takes on everyone is apparent in the black circles under their eyes, the strained, short tempers. Chuck's been off all day, surlier and more of a dick than he usually is, slamming equipment around and spoiling for a fight. He's about to send him off with the dog to cool off, but of fucking course, that's when the alarms go off. 

Herc knows it's not optimum fight mode, the kid needs to clear his head before getting into Striker, but with a 2800 ton sea monster coming through the breach, there's nothing to be done. Chuck's barking at his suit tech, bitching about the hydraulics to Herc and anyone in earshot. Herc's twitchy getting in Striker, has a bad feeling about letting Chuck pilot in his state. He'd deny it to anyone who asked, say it's always an equal push and pull between the two of them, but the kid next to him is the only blood Herc has left on the planet he can lay claim to, and he knows it's his responsibility to get them both back in one piece. 

When they link in this time, whether it's his temper or his exhaustion, the flashes of whatever's been coming through to Herc in their shared headspace suddenly sharpening into focus. As many times as he's done it, the initial moment of experiencing both sides of someone's thoughts still throws him.

The air is heavy and it's hard for Herc to breathe, anticipation and want and the slightest edge of fear under it all, that only adds to the racing thud of his heartbeat.

Chuck's on his knees, shoulders flexed back so tight his chest is almost touching his downturned face. His fingers are clasped, wrists strung together with what looks like a leather belt, wrapped up his arms. 

He's waiting, poised for something, someone. The press of a hand is warm on Chuck's shoulder, a sense of trust and relief flooding through him, _finally_ the only word he can think to articulate. It curls around his jaw, runs a callused knuckle down the side of his face, and before Chuck's face turns up, submission and yearning and that attention starved need painted across and pounding in his veins, Herc feels a wave of nausea because he fucking knows who Chuck's going to see. 

Herc's entirely sure, like the easy way he swings Striker's fist to connect with the rigid scales on a kaiju flank, that it's his face Chuck sees. The breath has vanished from Herc's lungs, he'd keel onto his knees if he wasn't locked into his suit, and as it is, he turns to Chuck, who has a look of horror dawning on his face. Chuck shakes his helmet, and Herc can see the dark fire in his eyes. Herc feels that want and God help him, Herc understands it and for a second, as signals cross and he's not sure whose head he's in anymore, he wants it too. He wants to feel the tension of Chuck's back under his hands, the heat and pressure wrapped around him, wants to hear those low keening cries only for him.

In his head, Chuck is shouting at him to leave, to get the fuck out, to focus. LOCCENT registers and HQ is on the line, giving them their orders and Herc shakes out of it. 

After it's all said and done, there's a tear along Striker's right leg, a phantom limp that Herc is surprised doesn't plague him when they disengage. Chuck's quiet, nods his head when the crew congratulates them, the usual jubilant, cocky victory yells are totally absent. 

A wall a couple meters taller and thicker than usual surrounds the boy, and Chuck stalks off to their quarters the first chance he gets. Herc debriefs for the both of them, takes his sweet time in mess, even though his bones ache with exhaustion. 

When he finally makes his way back to their bunks, late enough that even Chuck has to finally be asleep, Herc figures this is just one more thing they'll never talk about, tacked onto the laundry list of anything that isn't Striker or Max or what an old fucking man Herc is. 

The lights are still on when he climbs through the door, and Chuck's sitting on the edge of Herc's bed, head in his hands. He looks up when the metal whines, as Herc spins the handle, shuts them in. 

The tension is choking, thick, like he could slice it with the knife strapped to his thigh. For the first time since the link that morning, their eyes meet. 

"I tried to keep it back." 

And Herc knows that others, especially Stacker, take nothing with them into the drift, stay laser focused on the fight, but Herc's never been that kind of a pilot. The link is there for a reason, they are compatible, he and Chuck, for a reason.

Herc opens his mouth and Chuck gets off the bed, any trace of emotion from earlier shut down, defensive anger bubbling just under his skin. Herc doesn't need a neural link to know that. 

"I'm not sorry, old man." 

The words curl into Herc, and they're not offensive any more. It's how he feels, old and too tired to muster up the energy for a fight about this. Chuck gets off on being tied up, crossed over with some daddy issues, Herc's not going to crucify him for it. He's not even going to bring it up again, it's better for both of them to not open that can of worms, but then Chuck's moving into his space, crowding Herc back against the wall, that same stubborn set to his jaw, just itching for Herc to call him out on it, to give him a reason to propel them into a fight. 

"But you can't make me stop." 

"Did I say you had to?"

The sound of Herc's voice stops Chuck like a punch to his gut, and the look on his face. Fuck, it's beautiful. The shock and the realization and then, the want that flashes for a moment, yeah. 'Weren't expecting that at all, were you,' Herc thinks and maybe he can still surprise the boy every now and again. 

Chuck's mouth gapes like a fish, and he backs up, until his knees hit the bedframe and he sinks down. His eyes don't leave Herc's face, and the silence is loud with questions that are racing through Chuck's mind. 

Herc pushes off the metal wall and crosses the narrow space between them. He takes a deep breath, knees popping as he lowers himself down, trying to remember why he shouldn't, and why serving Chuck up on a platter for death each day is any more acceptable than what he's about to do. Nobody dies at the end of this, right? 

His thumb strokes through the bristled growth on Chuck's jaw and he tugs him in, using the boy's shocked state to mold Chuck's pliable form against his body. 

Herc had forgotten how good it feels, having someone to hold against him, someone he trusts. He gets what's in Chuck's head. It breaks whatever shell that passes for a heart he has left, that the kid thinks that's the only way Herc would respect him or pay attention to him, or even love him, because in his own fucked-up way, Chuck's the only thing Herc loves. 

If this is how he can prove it, then Herc's in. He's not sure about the rest of it, but Herc's willing to learn. He presses his mouth to Chuck's, soft at first, then lets him set the pace for it.

He doesn't know if the monster coming out of the sea is worse than him right now, but with Chuck's lips under his, pulse thrumming against his fingers, reminding him they're both still fucking alive, Herc's really not bothered to care.


End file.
